


Among the Ruins

by SilverDagger



Category: Claymore
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Loyalty, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDagger/pseuds/SilverDagger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tabitha has a few things to say to Miria, after the battle is won, and sometimes actions speak louder than words.</p><p>(Spoilers up through Chapter 121 of the manga)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Among the Ruins

Tabitha does punch her, after the battle is over. She waits until the day is nearly done and they're alone, just the two of them in a rubble-strewn courtyard with no one left to observe dissension in the ranks, and then she stalks across the cracked ground and swings her fist, a hard right hook at full strength across the jaw. Miria doesn't make any move to stop her, just takes the hit and staggers back a step, lifting a hand to her split lip and feeling the brief but present sting of true pain. It's almost a relief, that pain, the taste of her own blood on her tongue. After so long spent waiting, it's almost welcome.

“How dare you?” Tabitha says. Her voice is shaking, but not with rage. “How could you dare – ”

 _Turn my blade against you?_ Miria thinks. _Betray you? Leave you behind?_

“I'm sorry,” she says. “I couldn't see how to do it differently.” She doesn't say that she still can't, that she made her decision and stands by it. Those things are true, but that doesn't make them any less excuses. She's long since washed the day's blood and grime from her hands, the remnants of battle, but despite her victory here, there's a part of her that doesn't feel sated, and the rest of her doesn't feel clean. So she sets her shoulders and starts to turn away, back to the camp outside the gates where she ought to be attending to her duties instead of brooding like some sullen child in this ruin, but before she can take a step she feels a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. Tabitha looks at her like she's seeing something clearly for the first time, silver eyes narrowed and gleaming in the evening dimness, and for a moment, Miria thinks that she means to hit her again. Instead, she lowers her hand, looking for a moment as lost and weary as Miria feels.

“You can't just,” Tabitha says, and stops, breathes in sharply, starts again. “We're not your _soldiers_ , you know, we're not your bloody game pieces, we're your friends. If we want to die beside you, that's our choice to make. Not yours.”

“A month ago, you wouldn't have said that.”

“A month ago,” Tabitha says, “I was loyal, and a fool.” She's watching Miria intently, like she wants to and can't quite bring herself to look away. The wind tugs at her cloak and catches at strands of hair that have pulled loose from her braid, and her face is unreadable, maybe angry, maybe a little sad. After a long moment, she says, “I'm still loyal.”

“But not a fool,” Miria says. It isn't a question, and Miria isn't sure what she expects in response. Silence, maybe, or recrimination. She isn't expecting Tabitha to lift both hands to her face, twist fingers in her hair and pull her closer, into a clumsy kiss. She isn't expecting the sudden warmth of another's body pressed to hers or the quiet hitch in Tabitha's breathing when Miria wraps an arm around her shoulders in turn, clutching at the rough fabric of her cloak, and leans into the kiss. Perhaps she should have been. Tabitha's mouth is soft on hers, insistent, her tongue darting out to trace the edges of Miria's teeth, and despite everything, despite Hilda's ghost still looking over her shoulder, Miria can barely bring herself to be the one to pull away first.

“I'm sorry,” Tabitha says when she does, “I shouldn't have, I'm sorry,” but Miria quiets her with a shake of her head before stepping back, her hands on Tabitha's arms, as she takes a moment to compose her thoughts. It's too quiet out here, after the clamor and the fear of battle, the sky above too clear and empty. It leaves her feeling exposed, careless for dropping her guard, with the heat of desire still sitting unbidden in the pit of her stomach. She's been lonely for a very long time, and it isn't fair to allow another to mistake loneliness for love, but right now she feels the memory of both too keenly, and she is no longer sure of the distance or the difference between them. She traces a hand down the side of Tabitha's face, carefully, gently, and tries to think about what she needs to say.

“I hope history will be kind to us,” she says at last, “but if not – you should know that you have been the truest comrade I could have asked for. I don't deserve your loyalty.” What she means by it is _I don't deserve you._

“Haven't you ever thought,” Tabitha says, with just a trace of bitterness, “that maybe this isn't just about what you _deserve?_ ” 

“Then what?”

“What you want,” she says. “What we're willing to offer, whether you deserve it or not.” And then she looks down abruptly, her cheeks coloring, and says, “or perhaps I have been something of a fool after all.”

“No,” Miria says quietly. “Not that. I only – ” 

“Captain?” she asks – formal again, but something else lingers beneath the formality, a hope or a fear that Miria doesn't know if she has the will to turn away from. She looks down at the black line of her shadow and Tabitha's shadow, the broken stone, the sand scattered in constellations across the cracked ground. _I did this_ , she thinks, taking in the sight of the Organization's ruin. _This was my doing._ She wishes it could be enough.

“I want to be what you deserve,” she says. “All of you, everyone under my command. I want to be worthy, and I don't know that I can.”

Tabitha doesn't say anything sentimental, like _you already are_ , and she doesn't say _you're an idiot_ , either, though for a moment her mouth tightens into a thin, hard line like it always does when she wants to argue and won't. Instead she just laughs, a little ruefully, like she doesn't know why she'd been expecting anything else.

“Try,” she says. “Do what you can. And Gods damn you to hell, Captain, let us take care of the rest.”

She clasps Miria's hand tightly, and suddenly it's Miria who feels the breath trapped in her chest, caught on the edge between laughter and something like pain, Miria who wants to look away and can't. She has too many lives to carry already. She doesn't know what to do with one more. But she's no stranger to mistakes, and if there's anything to be learned from the battlefield and the fading bruise on her jaw, it's that maybe Tabitha doesn't need to be carried, or any of the rest of them either. Maybe what they need is the chance to stand on their own.

Miria raises a hand absently to her face, though any pain is long gone, leaving only older scars, and Tabitha flushes again and says, “I should apologize for that, too, shouldn't I?” She means it, Miria thinks – but there's still a steel edge in her voice that says she doesn't really regret it, whether she means the apology or not.

“No,” Miria says. “Don't. I think I might have deserved it.” It's good that Tabitha has some steel to her, after all. The fight isn't won yet, whatever the others believe, and she'll need good soldiers to stand with her at the end.

Not just soldiers, though. It would be easier if they were, but they aren't, _Tabitha_ isn't, and Miria didn't just spend seven years waiting to tear down the Organization only to take their place in the rubble.

“You just – ” Tabitha says. “You need to remember that it's not only you. That you're not alone. That's all.”

“I'll try,” Miria says, and smiles to show she means it. And she will try, though how much that will matter in the end, it's hard to say. It's hard to say anything for certain, except that Tabitha is beautiful in the half-light, and Miria will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, and the rest of them too, and that doesn't have anything to do with loyalty at all. Maybe it's dangerous to think like that, or maybe it isn't fair – or perhaps she was mistaken about that, too. Either way, the battle is won, and if they have only a moment of reprieve before the real war comes, she's willing to trust that they can make the most of it.

Miria leans forward before she can think the better of it and pulls Tabitha into another kiss, more tentative this time, careful – at least until Tabitha's hands come to settle at her hips, and Miria feels her heart lurch, blood heating her face at the flicker of lust in Tabitha's aura, and finds herself grateful for the solitude, the gathering dark. She reaches up to free Tabitha's hair from her braid and let it fall loose, silky and tangled, and as tired as she is she knows that sleep can wait, because they have time for this, because they're not dead yet, because they have time. She feels the weight of Tabitha in her arms, her solid presence, and for all she knows that nothing is certain, it feels a little more certain than it had before.

The dead have been avenged, she thinks. Maybe it's time to let them rest.


End file.
